Page 73 of My Big, Fat, Hot Billionaire Enemy
My dinner with Lucy is in less than two hours. My first instinct is to cancel. Retreat. Protect her from this. Protect myself from the inevitable fallout my father will engineer.
But… no. That’shisway. Manipulation. Secrecy. Using people as pawns.
I won’t do it.
If I’m choosing a different path, it starts now. It starts with honesty.
Even when it’s hard.
I need to tell her. Lay the cards on the table. Let her see the full picture of what she’s stepping into by getting involved with me.
It’s the only way this… whateverthisis… has any chance.
It’s the only way I save myself from becoming him.
24
Lucy
My phone buzzes just as I’m contemplating whether ‘stressed but trying to look effortlessly chic’ involves stilettos or flats.
It’s Christopher. Or rather, his usual cryptic initial.
Running late.Make it 7:30. -C.
I sigh.
Billionaire Standard Time strikes again. Probably closing a deal worth more than my entire company between brushing his teeth and choosing a tie.
Or maybe he’s battling a case of cold feet? I have zero idea what to expect tonight. Ice King? Vulnerable Confessor? Dominant Lover?
Place your bets, ladies and gentlemen.
Still, thirty extra minutes gives me time to overthink my outfit approximately seventeenmore times.
I finally settle on a simple black wrap dress, classic, professional, but maybe just a little bit alluring?
Who am I kidding, I’m dressing for battle. Emotional battle. With really good shoes.
And black lace underwear.
At 7:25, I’m standing in the intimidatingly sleek lobby of Christopher’s apartment building. The security guard checks my ID against a list. Apparently, I’m officially on the ‘Allowed Inside the Billionaire’s Fortress’ list now.
The guard gestures me towards the private elevator. Just like his work one, this elevator has no buttons. Just a smooth, blank panel. You get in, the doors close, and you’re whisked upwards silently.
The elevator doors glide open directly into his penthouse foyer.
And immediately, I know something’s wrong. The air feels… tense.
Christopher is standing by the massive windows overlooking the glittering city, but he’s not admiring the view. He’s rigid, his back to me, one hand shoved deep in his pocket, the other gripping a rocks glass filled with amber liquid. He hasn’t touched it.
“Christopher?” I say softly, stepping out of the elevator. The doors whisper shut behind me, sealing me in.
He turns slowly. His face is a mask, but tighter than usual. The cool control is there, but underneath, something else simmers. Anger? Frustration? He looks like he just went ten rounds with someone meaner than a spreadsheet.
“Lucy. You’re here.” His voice is flat. Devoid of the warmth I heard in the Hamptons.
Oh great. Ice King is back with a vengeance.
